First Time For Everything
by Lady Dudley
Summary: A collection of 'firsts' for Molly and Sherlock. At this stage, just implied Sherlolly. NEW chapter (#8) added.
1. Texts

**A/N: Just a little collection of 'firsts' for Molly and Sherlock that sort of snow-balled from this first chapter. I'm marking this as complete but I may be adding to it from time to time and please let me know if there's anything you'd like to see (although, please note, I don't do smut so there will be no "first night" together). Anyways, hope you enjoy :)**

_**Texts**_

_Molly, I need some toes._

Molly regarded the odd text from an unfamiliar number with a mixture of confusion and concern. It wasn't the first time she'd gotten bizarre messages in relation to her work, but no one had ever requested body parts before.

Although, to be honest, she was more concerned that whoever had sent the text knew her name.

She looked up as one of the morgue attendants wheeled in the latest cadaver, she glanced briefly back down at the text before she set her phone aside and reached for her gloves.

A little over an hour later, Molly was in the middle of weighing the vital organs for yet another autopsy when Sherlock burst into the room.

Despite the fact that the consulting detective had started using the morgue and its associated facilities fairly regularly, she was still getting used to his abrupt appearances.

"Hello Sherlock," she greeted him brightly, covering her surprise at seeing him behind a sunny smile. "What can I do for you?" she continued, turning back to note the weight of the liver she'd placed on the scales.

Sherlock shot her an odd look, "Didn't you get my message?"

Molly's brow furrowed as she glanced at him over her shoulder, "What message?"

"I sent you a request from some toes," he stated flatly with a hint of impatience.

Molly forgot all about the liver as she turned to gape at him, "That was _you_?"

"Obviously."

"How did you get my number?" she spluttered, unsure whether to be flattered or not that he'd gone to the trouble to find it out.

"You're part of a small team," Sherlock sniffed, "it wasn't difficult."

Molly's shoulders slumped slightly, "Oh."

Sherlock continued to regard her expectantly, "Shall I get the toes myself?" he asked after a moment.

Molly shook herself, "No, I'll get them," she replied, trying not to sound too eager as she removed her gloves and led the way to the lab.

"I still don't know how you're able to take these," she commented as she pulled on a new pair of gloves and retrieved a jar of toes.

"I'd say friends in high places but 'contacts' would probably be more appropriate," Sherlock replied as he took the jar off her and regarded its contents.

Molly nodded and went to throw her gloves into a hazard bin, "For the record, Sherlock, it would help if you _signed_ your texts."

She looked up as she got no response and frowned at the empty room.

"Thanks for the toes, Molly," she muttered to herself as she made her way back to the morgue.

After her shift ended, Molly was surprised to find another text on her phone from the same unknown number.

"I wonder what body parts he wants now," she murmured as she opened the message, making a mental note to save his number.

Her mild consternation melted into a smile as she read it.

_The toes were a great success – SH._

It wasn't the thank you she was hoping for, but at least it proved that he didn't completely ignore her.


	2. Bolthole

_**Bolthole**_

Molly was exhausted.

There'd been a particularly brutal accident and she'd been up for the better part of forty-eight hours trying to help piece together what had happened.

Literally 'piecing' things together in some cases.

She didn't even bother turning on the lights as she dropped her bag by the door and made her way to her bedroom. She briefly considered taking a shower as she passed the bathroom, but decided against it and went to flop, face down on her bed.

"As a pathologist, I thought you'd have greater powers of observation," commented a deep voice beside her.

Molly leapt away from the voice with a frightened squeal and found herself tumbling off the side of the bed. In her sleep addled state her attempts to find something to hold onto proved unsuccessful and she landed with an audible thump on the floor.

The light snapped on and she found herself looking up at the concerned face of the world's only consulting detective.

All her fright left her and she glared up at him, "What are you doing here?" she demanded as she got stiffly to her feet.

Sherlock had the grace to look a little guilty, "I needed somewhere to think."

"And the only place in the _whole_ of London that you could think was my bedroom?" she asked incredulously, placing her hands on her hips and glaring down at him.

At any other time, Molly probably would have enjoyed seeing Sherlock squirm, but she was too tired to care about anything except the fact that he was preventing her from having a well-deserved rest.

"I didn't think you'd mind," he admitted lamely after a long moment.

Molly took a deep breath as she pinched the bridge of her nose, "No, Sherlock, you didn't think at all," she snapped. She sighed heavily as she crossed her arms and regarded him with narrowed eyes trying to decide just how angry she was about his invasion of her privacy.

She was so engrossed in her own musings that she missed the small spark of admiration and interest in Sherlock's eyes as he regarded her in turn.

"Fine," she said finally, deciding she was too tired to argue any further, "you can stay," she told him, "on the couch," she added in a tone that brooked no opposition.

"Thank you," Sherlock murmured as he stood up and wisely made his way to the couch.

Molly gave a curt nod as she moved back towards the bed, missing the look Sherlock shot her over his shoulder.

He'd suspected that there was more to the petite pathologist than met the eye and his visit to her flat had been partly an attempt to find out more about her (not that he'd ever admit as much, even to himself). But infuriated Molly was truly a sight to behold and one that had surpassed his expectations.

Even he hadn't suspected such hidden depths of strength and passion.

Sherlock thrived on riddles and he wasn't going to budge until he solved the riddle of Molly Hooper.


	3. Toby

_**Toby**_

Sherlock let himself into Molly's flat and took up his usual station in the chair by the window.

Or, at least, he attempted to take up his usual station.

He stared down at the cat that was curled up on the chair with mild consternation, "You're in my seat," he informed the offending feline after a long moment.

The cat looked up at him with distinct indifference and flicked its tail.

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he regarded it, he didn't have much experience with cats or much success with them if the truth be told. The scratches he'd received as a child were part of the reason that he preferred dogs.

"Shoo," he said after a moment, making the appropriate motions with his hands.

The cat remained unmoved and started to clean its paws.

Sherlock sighed inwardly and, tentatively, attempted to pick the cat up; only to draw back sharply as it moved.

The cat stared up at him with what appeared to be mild surprise and Sherlock realised that it had simply been moving to allow him to lift it. His second attempt was less tentative and successful, although he was at a loss as to what to do with the cat now that he'd picked it up.

Awkwardly, he held it at arm's length and they regarded each other for a long moment.

"Right then," he said finally and set the cat on the floor before taking a seat in the chair.

He had all of five minutes before the cat suddenly materialised in his lap, breaking him from his train of thought.

He frowned as the cat proceeded to make itself comfortable, "No," Sherlock said firmly, picking up the cat and putting it back on the ground.

The cat ignored him and jumped back up into his lap.

Once again Sherlock removed it only to have it reappear a few seconds later, the cycle repeated itself three more times before Sherlock finally decided to give in to the inevitable.

"Fine, you can stay," he conceded, before he settled back in the seat and steepled his fingers under his chin.

A few hours later, Molly returned home from work.

By now she was used to finding the consulting detective in her flat and she left him to his own devices as she pottered about putting her things away.

However, she _was_ surprised to find her cat fast asleep in Sherlock's lap as she brought the tea things over for when he re-emerged from his Mind Palace.

"Toby," she whispered, setting the tray down and glancing at Sherlock to make sure that she hadn't disturbed him. "Come here," she continued, despite realising how useless it was to try and make a cat do anything it didn't want to do.

Toby didn't even move and she jumped as Sherlock spoke.

"He's fine," he told her, blinking a little as he re-adjusted to his surroundings, "we came to an agreement," he added as he turned to pour himself a cup of tea. "I get the chair if he can sit in my lap," he explained evenly, picking up his cup and taking a sip.

Molly nodded slowly, trying to envision Sherlock coming to terms with a cat.

"Well, I'm glad you're getting along," she said finally as she moved off into the kitchen.


	4. Tears

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews/favourites/follows - I'm so glad people are enjoying this :) Here's another little idea to add to the mix :)**

_**Tears**_

Molly was crying.

Sherlock stood awkwardly by the open doorway to her office, debating whether or not he should make his presence known.

He had very little experience with weeping women, or with _anyone_ weeping actually, since he usually made himself scarce at the first sign of tears.

But Molly was different.

She'd somehow gotten around his defences and become an essential part of his work – his _life_ – without him even realising it.

Even now, as he watched her, he was unaware of how deeply she had infiltrated his existence. He just knew that he was strangely unable (or, rather, _unwilling_) to witness her current state of distress without attempting to alleviate it.

Ignoring the odd twinge in his chest, Sherlock cleared his throat. He felt the twinge again as she started and hastily wiped away all traces of her tears, steadying herself she turned to look at him.

"Sherlock," she greeted him with forced brightness and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "What do you need?" she added, hiding another attempt to wipe her eyes by tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Sherlock studied her for a moment, "You're upset," he said finally, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he silently berated himself for stating the obvious.

She sniffed, "I'm fine," she lied.

Sherlock forgot all about his inward lecture and narrowed his eyes at her, "Don't lie to me, Molly." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, "You of _all_ people should know better," he continued, pursing his lips as he eyed her with distinct disapproval.

Molly bit her lip and Sherlock felt the same odd twinge again as her eyes glittered with unshed tears, "I'm sorry," she said in a low, but steady tone. She took a deep breath and blinked back her tears, "I just didn't think you did emotions."

"I don't," he said almost curtly, "but if this will affect your ability to work, I'd like to know."

Molly looked suspiciously close to tears again as she looked away, "Of course," she whispered.

The odd twinge returned with a vengeance as Sherlock watched her take a deep, ragged breath and hastily wipe away a tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye. "I promise I'll be fine," she told him, not sounding particularly convincing as she stood up, "what do you need?" she repeated in a firmer tone, meeting his gaze.

For one brief, almost panicked moment, several different answers rushed through his mind as he looked down at her and he found himself resisting the absurd urge to run.

"A body," he said flatly, suddenly remembering the reason he'd come in the first place and pushing the tumultuous thoughts aside. "I have a couple of experiments I'd like to run," he explained as she nodded and, still a little subdued, led the way out of her office.

A little over an hour later, Sherlock looked over his microscope at Molly and frowned as he took in her air of dejection as she wrote down some results. His frown deepened as the twinge flared back into life.

"He isn't worth it," he said finally, startling Molly.

"What?" she asked, blinking at him in surprise.

"Whoever it is that made you cry," Sherlock clarified, "he isn't worth it."

Molly's confused expression compelled him to continue, "No one who makes you cry is worth it, you deserve better, Molly," he said firmly, turning back to the microscope and missing the small smile that crept across Molly's face.

Sherlock adjusted the dial on the microscope, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind (a voice that always sounded suspiciously like Mycroft) that demanded to know why he'd said anything. He glanced up at the pathologist, noticing her small smile as she resumed writing down the results.

His expression softened slightly as he watched her, only to change abruptly to dismay as he felt that odd twinge once more and he recognised it for what it was.

He shouldn't be feeling protective of the petite pathologist, protectiveness denoted caring and caring was for the weak.

Sherlock pursed his lips as he turned back to the microscope and forced all the hints of sentiment into a box at the back of his Mind Palace.

He'd delete that information later, for now he needed to concentrate on his experiment.

...

**A/N: In case you're wondering, yes, he did (conveniently) forget to delete the box...**


	5. Drunk

**A/N: Once again, thanks for all the support for this story. This chapter is loosely based on a scene in _Miss Congeniality - _I'm sure you'll be able to pick which one ;) Hope you like!**

The first (and, coincidentally, the _last_) time that Sherlock ever saw Molly drunk was at a staff party at St Bart's.

He'd been invited as a courtesy since he spent so much time there and had accompanied Molly from the morgue. She'd had a particularly tough day dealing with a case involving the horrific murder of some children and was determined to "let her hair down."

Even more so when he'd suggested that perhaps she'd had enough to drink. A suggestion that had led to her consuming more than even she had intended to prove that he couldn't tell her what to do.

As a consequence, Sherlock had remained at the party for longer than he'd felt necessary in order to keep an eye on the increasingly inebriated pathologist. When she'd been preparing to go home accompanied by one of the male nurses who clearly had less than gentlemanly intentions, Sherlock felt that his diligence had been justified and he'd immediately intervened.

"That was completely unnecessary," Molly informed him as he half carried her down the stairs, "I can take care of myself."

Sherlock refrained from commenting as he prevented her from walking into the wall and guided her out onto the street.

"Where are we going?" she asked, stumbling against him as he hailed a cab.

"I'm taking you home," he informed her, helping her into the cab and then slipping in beside her.

She nodded sagely, "Oh."

She watched as he gave the driver her address and attempted to give him a stern look as he sat back in the seat. "Don't get any ideas," she warned him, wagging a finger in his face.

Sherlock's only response was to raise an eyebrow and she slumped back against the window, humming to herself as she watched the city lights pass by. Meanwhile, Sherlock pretended to be interested in the cab driver's idle gossip, he breathed a sigh of relief as they reached their destination.

"How did we get here?" Molly asked as Sherlock helped her out of the cab and she gazed up at her flat.

Sherlock chose to ignore her question as he paid the driver. He turned around just in time to catch her as she overbalanced and nearly fell into a nearby hedge.

"My hero," she giggled as she leaned heavily against him as he helped her up the front steps.

Opening the door he, once again, turned just in time to catch her as she overbalanced. This time preventing her from falling down the stairs. He sighed inwardly and, giving in to the inevitable, picked her up and carried her inside.

"Thank you for bringing me home," she said seriously as he deposited her gently on the couch.

"You're welcome," he told her as he went to get a glass of water and some aspirin.

"And your secret's safe with me," she added as he returned.

"Secret?"

"I know you think I'm gorgeous," she informed him through a yawn as she settled down on the couch.

Sherlock froze, "What?"

She looked up at him blearily, "It's ok, I don't mind," she assured him.

Sherlock pursed his lips as he pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and tucked her in, "Go to sleep, Molly," he told her firmly.

"Ok," she agreed, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Sherlock stepped back and watched her for a long moment, silently conceding that she _was_ gorgeous. From a perfectly objective point of view, obviously, but how the devil did she know he thought that?

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he continued to watch her, Molly Hooper had the unsettling ability to see through him. He'd have to be more careful around her in future.


	6. No

**A/N: This chapter is set a bit later than the others. Please let me know if there are any other 'firsts' that you would like to see (although, please note, that I don't do smut). Hope you enjoy! :)  
**

**_No_**

"No."

"No?" Sherlock repeated, looking confused.

"I'm sure it's very important," Molly continued as she tidied up her desk, "but I really can't stay back tonight. Why don't you get someone else to help you?"

"There is no one else," Sherlock grumbled, looking put out.

"There's a whole department of pathologists," Molly reminded him absently as she shrugged out of her lab coat.

"But none of them are _you_," Sherlock told her, nullifying some of the sentiment in his words by taking her coat off the rack and holding it stubbornly out of her reach.

"Sherlock, I really don't have time for this," she said firmly, hanging up her lab coat.

"This is important Molly," he told her levelly, tightening his hold on her coat, "it could solve the whole case."

"Then stay and conduct the experiment," Molly replied, unmoved as she held out a hand for her coat, "I have to pick up my parents from the airport."

Sherlock pouted, "Couldn't someone else do that?"

"No," Molly said firmly, "now are you going to give me my coat or not?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and moved the coat further out of her reach, Molly gave an exasperated sigh.

"Fine," she said, surprising him by her sharp tone as she picked up her bag, "keep it," she added as she stalked out of the lab.

Sherlock watched her go for a few moments before he hurried after her.

Outside the hospital, Molly rubbed her arms as she waited for a cab. She looked up in surprise as her coat was draped around her shoulders.

"It's too cold for you to be without your coat," Sherlock said gruffly.

"Thank you," Molly said, snuggling gratefully into the coat's warmth.

Sherlock rocked back on his feet slightly and Molly raised an eyebrow, "I'm not coming back inside, Sherlock," she told him, a little amused by his persistence.

"Fine," he huffed, as he flagged down a cab, making her smile.

"Good luck with the experiment," Molly said as he helped her into the cab.

Sherlock pulled a face, "Good night Molly."

Molly suppressed a grin, "Good night Sherlock."

Sherlock waited until the cab was out of sight before he made his way back to 221B. John looked up from his book in surprise as he entered, "That was quick."

"Molly said no," Sherlock informed him, taking a seat.

"Good for her," John said with a smirk, turning back to his book.

Sherlock shot him a dark look, "Molly has said no before."

"Yes, but this is the first time you've listened," John replied easily, turning the page.

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again as he realised the truth of that statement.

He settled back in his chair, unsure now what bothered him more: that he wasn't able to conduct his experiment or that he'd received yet another reminder of how much he'd taken Molly for granted in the past.

He steepled his fingers under his chin, he was going to have to work on that predilection. Molly deserved better.


	7. Coffee

**A/N: Again, this one is set a little bit later than the others and follows on from 'No.' Hope you enjoy it :)**

"Coffee: white, no sugar."

Molly blinked in surprise at the takeaway coffee cup that materialised on her desk. "Um, thank you," she said, looking up at Sherlock.

"Did you need something?" she added, picking up the coffee and coming to join the consulting detective where he was making himself comfortable at one of the microscopes.

"No, thank you, I'll manage," he told her absently, shooting her charming smile.

Molly regarded him for a long moment, "But you brought me coffee."

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed, busying himself with adjusting the microscope.

"You never bring me coffee."

"Well, now's as good a time as any to start," he told her, feigning nonchalance as he gave her another dazzling smile.

Molly narrowed her eyes, refusing to be fobbed off, "Why did you bring me coffee?" she looked down at it dubiously.

Sherlock sighed at her doubtful expression, "I promise that it is nothing more innocuous than a cup of coffee. You have often complained about the quality of the coffee at the hospital, I thought you might appreciate a 'decent' cup," he explained.

Molly still looked a little unsure, "Why?"

Sherlock sighed again, "Because that's what people do isn't it? Bring other people coffee when they have one?" he asked, looking up at her in exasperation. "Are we going to have to go through this _every_ time I bring you something?"

"You never bring me anything," Molly reminded him.

"I just brought you some coffee," he countered, gesturing to the cup in question.

"You're impossible," she told him, fighting off a smile as she took a sip. "This is really good," she commented as she took another, longer sip.

Sherlock bobbed his head, "I'm glad you like it. Perhaps now I may continue with my experiment in peace," he added, turning pointedly back to his microscope.

"I'll leave you be," Molly promised, backing away, "but I still want to know what you're up to."

Sherlock pretended not to hear her as he pretended to be engrossed in his experiment whilst secretly watching the pathologist out of the corner of his eye. His mouth twitched as he fought off a satisfied smirk as he watched her savour the remains of her coffee.

He'd suspected that she would be suspicious by the sudden change in his behaviour, but now that the ice had been broken (so to speak) he trusted that she would soon cease questioning his bringing her coffee.

Then perhaps he could move on to the next stage of proving to Molly Hooper (and everyone else) that he didn't take her for granted.


	8. Mattered

**A/N: Just a little something inspired by the annual reminder about professional conduct etc. This one has no specific time frame, although it probably occurs before 'No' and 'Coffee': the first time Sherlock realises Molly's opinion matters (most). Hope you enjoy :)**

_**Mattered**_

"Morning Freak."

Molly winced as she heard Sergeant Donovan greet Sherlock.

Sherlock always insisted that it meant nothing and didn't bother him, but Molly hadn't missed the slight tightening of his jaw every time the detective greeted him in this manner.

It wasn't fair and Molly had had enough.

"Detective," she greeted the other woman politely, holding the results of an autopsy close to her chest. "This is a place of work," she continued in a firm tone, ignoring the warning look Sherlock sent her from behind the detective, "and I would appreciate you treating it as such."

Donovan looked a little surprised, "Excuse me?"

"The way you greeted Sherlock just now," Molly explained, indicating where he sat with a nod of her head, "that's not professional and I don't appreciate that sort of behaviour in my morgue."

Donovan looked between Molly and Sherlock, "You're kidding," she said finally, "you're actually _defending_ him?" Donovan took a step towards her, "You can't trust him," she added in a warning tone, lowering her voice.

Molly met her gaze steadily, "I'm not a child, Detective," she retorted, lifting her chin, "and neither are you. Name calling is beneath you."

Donovan regarded Molly for a long moment, before she gave a small, slow nod. Satisfied, Molly handed over the report, Donovan left without another word.

Molly turned back to the paperwork she had been working on before Donovan entered, pretending not to notice that Sherlock was watching her.

"She's not going to change her mind about me," Sherlock said finally.

Molly shrugged a shoulder, "At least she might keep her opinions to herself."

Sherlock frowned, "Her opinion doesn't bother me."

"It bothers me," Molly muttered, flushing a little as she realised what she said.

Sherlock's frown deepened, "Why?"

Molly ignored him and pretended to be engrossed in her work, Sherlock's expression changed from confusion to annoyance.

"Molly…."

"It's not important," Molly insisted, still not looking up.

Sherlock pursed his lips, "Molly," he tried again, in a firmer tone.

"You're not a freak," Molly said finally, glancing up briefly, "you're a _person_ and…" she closed her eyes so that she didn't have to look at him, "you're special," she added, so softly that he almost missed it.

Sherlock's annoyed expression softened slightly, "Thank you," he said finally, unsure of how to respond.

Molly opened her eyes, looking a little relieved, "You're welcome," she said, flashing him a dazzling smile before turning back to her work.

Sherlock continued to watch her for a few more minutes and silently admitted to himself that, while Donovan's opinion didn't matter, Molly's _did_.

In fact, if he were to be truly honest with himself, her opinion was the one that mattered _most_.


End file.
